A
bit of an introduction here: This really has nothing to do with the
Iraqi war, or any real war for that matter, although you may take it
that way. It's actually a side piece to something else I had written.
However, I felt it best to leave it open, so you can take it however
you want. Anyhow, enough of my rambling, on with writing!

Painters
and Poets Have Leave to Lie

It
is a cold night; swift, cool breezes play games with crops and
meadows. Skies are clear and cloudless. Stars form constellations as
the moon's light beckons the brave. Dark enough to dream, light
enough to see.

Upon the horizon - Armageddon. The sky is
glowing red from fires not so distant. Flashes of destruction are
continuous with little rest. It is as if the sun has crumbled and its
fragments are falling from the sky. As if God Himself is raining
fires of wrath from His heavenly palace. Iron birds fly against the
beautiful stars and with arrows from their bellies, create
devastation.

The people are fearful. Tonight, the fires.
Tomorrow, the rubble. The future is bleak and war-torn. War machines
with treads plow unforgiving through the streets. Sentinels stiff
carry guns for protection. "These are not our guardians,"
one man spits in disgust as the intruders march by.

Morning
light shows buildings once so proud and tall just sand. Beneath this
smoldering debris, somewhere, a girl will cry. However, it is too
late. No one can go back now. Not the intruders, not the watchers of
this town, not the dead, the survivors, nor the mourning.

The
intruders continue their struggle. Their willpower cannot be
compromised; their mission cannot, and will not, fail. Giving up
isn't an option. These intruders are not bad people. At times you can
catch them interacting with those of this town. They promise freedom.
Such a thing to kill and die for! They promise stability one day.
Yes, one day, the warmth of the free sun will touch your cold skin.
One day, the quakes from bombs will cease, and you will stand fearful
no more.

But that day has yet to come. And every morning they
are mourning. And everyday they are not cowards as they brave the war
zone they call home.

How could I have blindly reported these
people are so different from us? We preach their warlike nature. They
want to be honest men, not needing to be fearful of their own. What
cowards we must be in comparison to their everyday heroism. We report
their scandals and call them corrupt. Is that any different from us?
The ironies and savageries of mankind - we are all at fault.

From
the waves of the sea came waves of soldiers. From the crisp breeze of
the forever endless sky came the roaring fighter jets. From the
rumbling of the Earth came an uprising. An entire nation had been
reborn through the never-ending wheel of revolution and human trials.
Sometime overnight, the autocratic nation raised a democratic flag
over its capital. Whether this flag is forever or just for now, we
have yet to see.

I know what I have seen. I saw the dancing of
children in the streets. "Praise democracy!" they would
cheer. Those once intruders were now heroes to the people. Suddenly,
they could walk unafraid to the market; they could be free even if it
was only for that day. What an amazing feeling. I can only imagine.
Suffer oppression and war your whole life, and then by the grace of
another man, be liberated?

That's not to say it's a
happily-ever-after tale. There's a long road ahead for these people.
"Rome wasn't build in a day." Well, neither was the idea of
democracy. It will always be changing, as the people change. As will
be this nation, or any nation. I guess, mankind is always evolving.

It's really a shame that most people will never hear this
story. After all, as a reporter, I report what you want to hear. No
one wants to hear a story that will never end, one that at any moment
could become history. Although you'll never hear this in any official
news report, you can bet your life that it's an official story.
Painters and poets have leave to lie. Journalists? Well, we just
deliver the facts, no matter how twisted propaganda begs them to be.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.